


A Crying Shame

by kinglyace



Series: Crossing Paths [2]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-16 04:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinglyace/pseuds/kinglyace
Summary: MULEs are nuisances, an obstacle to avoid or overcome at all times with force always necessary. Sam believes this, knows it first-hand MULEs can't be reasoned with. He believes what the UCA and Die-Hardman tells him because there's nothing to contradict him.But it's all propoganda really, a way to cover up who the MULEs are and what they really want. Stealing and delivering cargo has never been their goal.
Series: Crossing Paths [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547038
Comments: 17
Kudos: 61





	1. Recon

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have Opinions (TM) about what the UCA claims or phrase certain things. I don't 100% trust the UCA after finishing JSE's playthrough and I think I'm a little justified.

The MULEs are easy to spot in their canary yellow suits, eyesores against calm green and neutral brown landscape. Sam moves carefully from one patch of tall grass to the next, his odradek whirring in wait to rebuff their searching ping. The last thing he wants is to be cornered again or driven out of the territory before he can snag the materials in their lockers.

Any other time he would give the MULEs a wide berth, where he’d rather struggle his way up sheer cliff faces or through deep ravines just so he wouldn’t have to fight and run at the same time. The only thing that makes MULEs preferable to BT’s is that, at least the MULEs don’t try to outright kill him because it’s only his cargo they want, not blood.

But today, Sam is playing with fire because the MULEs have what Die-Hardman claims is “an extremely important piece of equipment” that’s vital to the UCA. Sam wants to call bullshit but an order is an order and well… it’s this or he goes back to hauling junk to preppers through a snowstorm and he needs a goddamn break from the bitter cold.

He’s just at the edge of their territory, out of range of being scanned just yet but they could see him at this distance. The familiar low roar of a vehicle warns him of a nearby patrol, no doubt prowling for unwary Porters. Sam spots a trench, the gap just big enough for him to slip into and lay low until the car passes and he can make his way toward their base.

Rocks clatter as he climbs down, sinking into the mud and thin layer of dirty water at the bottom of the ditch. It’s shallow enough that he can see the vehicle as it drives closer, but the onboard MULEs don’t catch sight of him just yet. He waits, watching as the truck rolls up and over a low hill past his hiding spot. They don’t stop nor blare the warning horn, unaware of his presence so far. Good, he won’t have to deal with them just yet. 

Sam makes his way further down the trench, looking for a perfect spot to climb up and sneak into a tall clump of grass. The stench of copper hits his nose as he turns a sharp corner, red staining one rocky wall and oozing lazily into the water.

It’s another Porter, splayed against the ground and breathing heavily through his mouth. He doesn’t jump when he sees Sam, either too tired or on the verge of giving up completely.

“Oh hey,” the Porter greets with a weak and delirium fueled smile. His mouth is coated with blood and at least two teeth are missing.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asks as he slowly edges closer, his eyes flicking up and down the other Porter’s body. He’s holding his side tightly, where blood is sluggishly welling up beneath his gloves. 

“Fucking MULEs. I was doing an escort and they caught us by surprise. I thought running through the Timefall would keep them away but… it let up before we could get away. Fuckers came right for us,” he wheezes and blood bubbles up between his lips. He hasn’t got long, stranded out here in a ditch. 

“We were trying to get to Lake Knot, fuck…” the Porter hisses and he twitches, grimacing as pain courses through him.

“I don’t fucking know why they took my client, but if you can, get ‘em out. There’s a family in Lake Knot waiting for ‘em,” he pleads through a gasp of pain. Sam won’t take his hand, won’t make the pact “binding” because it means he has to touch the other man and he won’t. But instead he nods, and glances up to the edge of the cliff again. It’s not terribly steep, and with a ladder maybe he can carry the man up when he comes back.

“Alright. Just hold on then, I won’t be long,” Sam promises but doubt clings inside his chest. He might have to play CD later and there’s no incinerator nearby.

He leaves the trench and the Porter, his head whipping back and forth to clock the area. His odradek whirs and his cuff tells him there are three at the main camp, five in the vehicle to the east of him and five more milling about the field directly in front of the camp center. There’s plenty of long grass between him and the main tent, but there’s Timefall on the way in about an hour. It’s enough to get in and out if he were just reclaiming cargo but now he has to deal with a hostage- an event he can’t recall the MULEs ever stooping to. They’re violent, but to take a hostage? Nearly unheard of.

His breathing almost seems too loud as he crouches and waddles awkwardly through the grass, pausing when the wind blows a little too hard and exposes him. The MULEs don’t notice him though, lazily lounging about their territory. Maybe it’s the fact he has no cargo right now or because the Timefall is coming, but either way Sam won’t look a gift MULE in the mouth. If they’re out of his way, the easier this is.

When Sam makes it up the main tent, he groans and wishes he had brought a decoy with him. Two MULEs stand at the entrance, leaning on their electric poles and chatting. Of course getting through the front door would be too easy because there isn’t much long grass at the rear of the tent. He’ll have to make a sprint for it to avoid detection but the patrol truck is coming up the nearby ridge. It’ll pass right by his spot in the grass and it’s unlikely they  _ won’t _ see him.

Sam chews his lip and decides that, fuck it, it’s now or never. He lunges from the grass and hopes the sound his boots thudding against ground won’t draw attention, his heart beating too loud in his head. The rear entrance is just a narrow slit in the fabric but it’s enough for the time being. He barely manages to slip through just as the truck roars into sight, the engine drowning out his curse. He waits, holding his breath, but the horn never blares. They didn’t see him, thank god.

The inside of the tent is mostly dim, several stacked shelves surrounding him. There’s plenty of cargo marked ceramics and metals, but his target isn’t here. It might be in one of the post-boxes nearby which is annoying. Still, if he can find a spare truck, he’ll bleed this camp dry.

He makes his way down the aisle of shelves, creeping closer to the cluster of artificial lights that sat near the front of the tent. He pauses, crouching behind one low shelf as muttering reaches his ears. There’s a person inside the tent with him for sure. Sam’s hand drifts to his bola gun, clasping it just in case as he risked a glance around the shelf.

It’s not a MULE- or at least not a conscious one. One yellow clad figure is laid out on a table, their suit opened up to expose a mess of blood and bandages. Standing over them is a BRIDGES certified medic, red suit covered in dirt and viscera. Their head snaps up as Sam swears, barely containing himself to an angry whisper.

“Cross?! What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a tea party? What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” Cross whispers back, gesturing to the MULE in front of them.

This is not what Sam signed up for.


	2. Casualties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam plans to break cross out of MULE custody, but comes face-to-face with an uncomfortable aspect of life outside of the cities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So it's exam week and I... have been tired a lot. I literally slept for two days straight last weekend when I meant to get caught up on work. Ooof, been a while since that's happened!  
> Also I finished JSE's play through and I... have a lot of questions but also I just bought the game for myself! Hopefully I can dive into it fully myself during winter break! :) I'll be playing easy mode because I'm a weeny lmao.

“Let me guess, you’re supposed to be in Lake Knot,” Sam grumbles, lowering his Bola gun and stepping into the light. Cross only grunts in assent back, their brows furrowed and eyes back to their patient. 

“How did you know I was here? BRIDGES doesn’t act this fast.”

“Your Porter is dying in a ditch, who I only found because these jackasses have some equipment the UCA needs.” 

Cross pauses in their work, lifting their head to meet Sam’s gaze. There’s dark bags under Cross’s eyes and their lips have been chewed so much the skin is starting to crack and bleed. It makes their face seem more ashy and drawn than usual.

“If he’s still alive that means I can still patch him up. Fuck, I didn’t know they hurt him,” Cross swears, one robotic hand unfolding from their hip to wipe away sweat from their brow.

“Look, I can’t do anything until my current patient is stabilized. Can you just… wait a little bit? I’ll help you steal a truck and we can leave quickly,” Cross pleads and Sam can barely stop himself from scoffing too loud.

“It’s a fuckin’ MULE. Why do you give a shit?” he starts, only to have Cross bare their teeth in a snarl and glare at Sam as if he were the threat.

“Because this is a goddamn child you bastard!”

The words don’t make sense in his head as he looks between Cross’ angry face and the unconscious person beneath him. He hadn’t noticed the chubby cheeks, how they swam in the yellow suit, or how their feet didn’t dangle from the table like adults would. Sam’s stomach began to turn, nausea clawing its into his chest and up his throat. All the MULEs he’d ever encountered were adults, drawn by cargo and nothing else. To think a child had been taken into their ranks or brainwashed by them? 

“He’s sixteen. He fell off a cliff, broke his ribs, and they didn’t realize something was terribly wrong until he wouldn’t wake up this morning. The only reason they went after us was because they know I'm the resident field medic around here.”

Something squelched loudly as Cross moved one hand and they cursed, reaching for another tool on the stained tray next to them. Another robotic hand unfolded, disappearing into the patien-  _ the child's- _ chest. He didn’t move or react though, and Sam felt his own chest constrict tighter. 

“Alright. Give me a little time to get the gear and make sure the MULEs won’t follow us,” Sam offers quietly and Cross only nods in his vague direction. Blood has started to stain the robotic hands helping them, and the amount of clean tools left to their disposal is dwindling. But there’s nothing Sam can do here.

He starts instead with the two MULEs just outside the door, who only manage to squawk before he’s knocked them out cold thanks to his bola gun and hardy boots. He drags them into the tall grass, hoping the lack of sentries won’t tip off the ones milling outside the ring of tents. Sam crouches and makes his way to the middle of the gathering area, where a postbox sits in the open. His head swivels back and forth, seeing neither the truck or another nearby MULE just yet. There’s not even the confirming roar of the engine nearby, so Sam takes that as his only window of opportunity and opens up the postbox.

His target cargo is there, a hard drive sitting neatly on top of several cases of various drugs and medicines. There’s some old books, random files to old companies that no longer exist, and a surprising amount of reclaimed board games. Guilt gnaws at the back of his mind, because it’s obvious why the MULEs would even bother with taking otherwise useless cargo.

Sam only takes the hard drive and closes the postbox again, on the hunt for the makeshift garage that has to be nearby. There’s only one other large tent in MULE camps most of the time, and sure enough, there’s a spare truck and motorcycle there. A rack full of ceramics and special alloys is off to the side, with a few extra containers of metals to boot.

Sam thinks it only fair, as he loads them into the truck, that he take them back. It’s just enough to rebuild the nearby road completely, and allow him to never set foot near this camp again hopefully. It’s a win for everyone involved, he tells himself.

Sam doesn’t want to step back into the main tent by the time he’s done, but time is slowly running out. The patrol truck will draw near soon and it’s a coin flip if they’ll notice the lack of sentries. Sam doesn’t want to deal with them, but he wants to deal with Cross even less right now. Their anger has such a hot edge to it, and it’s one Sam would hate to see turned to him. But he has no choice- so he insteads he takes a deep breath and steps into the tent.

Sam’s stomach drops as he sees a stained sheet pulled over the table and the underage MULE, with Cross sitting slumped on a nearby chair. They don’t look up at Sam or even acknowledge his presence, focused on slowly wiping blood from their hands and robotic attachments with a rusty towel.

“I have the truck loaded,” Sam says in a low voice. Cross says nothing for several uncomfortable moments, then tosses the rag with a frustrated grunt.

“We need to take him with us. I couldn’t save him but we can prevent a void out.” Their voice is rough, just on the edge of breaking but they don’t cry. Sam suspects it’s not the first time something similar has happened.

Cross and Sam wrap the body together, bind it up tight before walking it quickly out the tent and to the truck. The patrol is due back soon, and they still need to stop and retrieve the Porter from the ditch. So Sam wastes no time in high tailing it out of the camp, blazing past several stray MULEs who only shout in surprise as they roll out of the way. By the time the horn starts to scream in the air, their truck is vaulting over the trench and just out of the MULEs reach. The truck screeches to a stop and Sam jumps down before the truck has fully stopped. Cross follows shortly after, calling for their Porter but stops just short of the trench. Sams sees why a mere moment after and he swallows thickly. 

The Porter is still, his face drained of all color and eyes blank as they gaze into nothing. Cross scrambles into the trench but the amount of blood pooled around his body and the lack is confirmation enough. He bled out waiting for them, doomed from the moment MULEs attacked him.

They loaded him silently into the truck, right next to the teenage MULE and drive away to find a dry place to make a fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I legitimately meant to have this done way sooner but classes take precedence and I actually had to work during my work study this last week (which is shocking, I usually sit in the office and do nothing). I soooo want to write a post-game fic right off the bat since I finished watching DS because my heart just loves Sam and Lou so much (and also Deadman :) ).


	3. Hard Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross tells Sam the truth of the MULEs and confirms some of Sam's own suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I started writing that super fluffy DeadSam fic so now I gotta balance that out with some angst!

Cross at first says nothing, only tries to desperately rub at the blood coating their suit though it had since dried black. It comes off in tiny flakes, clinging to Cross stubbornly and blocking out the BRIDGES logo. It’s twenty minutes before they give up with a frustrated grunt, dragging their hands down one arm and leaving a broken streak on the suit in their wake.

Questions slowly trickle through Sam’s mind as he drives and as he watches Cross out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t form words with his mouth just yet. Part of him wanted nothing more than to burn the bodies and be on his way, but the face of the teenager hung in his mind. MULEs were supposed to be feral Porters, long turned by the stresses of the job and obsessed with the packages they once delivered. That’s all he or any other Porter knew, warned by horror stories from survivors and BRIDGES.

“You’re terrible at keeping your thoughts to yourself,” Cross finally snapped. Sam felt himself jolt, unused to feeling Cross’ anger directed at himself though misplaced it was. He didn’t reply, only tightened his grip on the wheel as they vaulted through a shallow ravine. 

“I didn’t think they had a child in their camp either. Most MULEs don’t last more than a couple years out in the wild, much less long enough to have kids. Hell, maybe it wasn’t anyone’s kid, maybe they ran out here because of BRIDGES.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sure, BRIDGES wasn’t the best at handling people sometimes but to drive a kid out of the safety of a city? There’d be no way. The chance of a voidout would be nearly 100%.

Cross snorted and turned to watch Sam, their lips pressed into a thin line under heavily baggy eyes. They reach for their own BRIDGES cuff and twist it off, holding it up for Sam to see while the blue light flickered looking for Cross. Sam recalls that the cuffs monitor them, from their vitals down to every word uttered. He carefully takes his own off and sets it next to him.

“BRIDGES is aware of how I feel on the matter but they might get suspicious if you hear anything. Though I’ve stopped being afraid of BRIDGES for a while. But do you honestly believe that MULEs are out here because they have some vague addiction to cargo and packages? That they put themselves at the risk of death from exposure and B.T.s because they just can’t stand being inside a city anymore? Is that what BRIDGES told you?” 

Cross shakes their head, one hand curling into a fist on their thigh.

“I’m not surprised, BRIDGES is all about protecting their ‘mission’ at all costs. Why would they tell anyone the truth about how they treat their lowest employees?”

“Then why do you work for them? Why not just say fuck it and go somewhere else?”

There’s a slight pause as Cross sighs and wipes one hand down their tired face.

“I only work for them because it was this or jail. I got into some shit before BRIDGES picked me up. Doesn’t mean I like it. Or that I won’t call out their own shit.”

The word criminal crosses Sam’s mind but it doesn’t fit when he looks at Cross.

“It’s the same with a lot of their Porter’s. Not everyone is jumping at the chance to risk their life for deliveries so BRIDGES has to scrape the bottom of the barrel. Or they chew up those that don’t have a messed up childhood and spit them out when they get too needy. Most MULEs are just former employees who got fed up with nearly dying or found out some of BRIDGES dirty laundry. It’s so much easier to chase them out of town instead of own up and admit something shady is going on.”

“So because they’re pissed at BRIDGES they’re going to attack me and other Porters? Yeah, sounds fucking fair.”

“I don’t agree with their tactics Sam. But this happens because BRIDGES is up to something, I just know it. It’s the same reason why the kid… why the kid was there. His parents probably died in the field and BRIDGES won’t take in orphans. They ‘don’t have the budget’ and if they don’t have any other family… what other choice do they have?” 

The uncomfortable realization won’t leave Sam, no matter how much he tries instead to focus on the rough terrain in front of him. Of course BRIDGES wouldn’t take in kids, they’d be a burden. Children were so rare nowadays and with it the ability to even care for children was sparse. Sam vaguely recalled some lecture Heartman had started about oxytocin and being able to bond with children, about how it was such an important component for human connectivity. 

It makes his gut roll and he has to take a breath to stop the bile rising in his throat. Sure, Sam didn’t trust BRIDGES as far as he could throw them but this only made him anxious. What did this mean for him, what had he, the adopted son, been to Bridget? The exception or an attempt at damming their guilt? 

“Just keep that in mind Sam. MULEs are dangerous, but not as dangerous as the people who made them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So fun fact, I'm pursuing philosophy as part of my academic career and my ethics class talked about oxcytocin as part of what builds up social bonds in our early evolution. I have some Thoughts (TM) about how Kojima has applied it in the game but I'll save that for a tumblr rant (which is at unicorinspace btw!)


	4. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out about Cross' dirty past and comes face-to-face with an unsavory figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The holidays came and kicked my ass... and now the spring semester is about to start! At least it'll be a fun set of classes!

It takes an hour to find a place dry enough to start a fire. The journey to an incinerator is too dangerous now and they can’t risk backtracking through MULE territory. But Cross assures him they have the right tools, they just have to start everything.

They lay the wrapped bodies out side-by-side, one so much smaller than the other. Sam tries not to focus on the difference and distracts himself by rearranging cargo in the truck while Cross gathers the tools they need. Special oil is poured over both bodies first, from head to toe and on the ground around them in a tight circle. Cross takes a few minutes extra to gather decently sized stones and a couple old cargo cases to line the circle, digging up fresh wet dirt to create a barrier between the bodies and forest undergrowth.

“You got a mask? Don’t wanna breathe this stuff in once the fire starts,” Cross asks, gesturing to their own oxygen mask. Sam had meant to save his own for the next trip up to the Mountaineer but this seemed… slightly more pressing. He shows it to Cross, who nods grimly.

“Right… I’m so sorry Marc. I didn’t think this would happen. Hope you see your family soon,” Cross starts, taking their flask from their thigh holster. They take one long swig and then pour the rest out for the poor Porter. 

“And god rest the poor kid. I didn’t even know his name. I pray there’s no more suffering for you.”

It only takes a flick with a lighter for the blaze to start, roaring up as the oil feeds it quickly. The oxygen masks go up as black smoke starts to curl upward and choke the air, the smell of burning flesh making its way through the filters. Cross finds a log to sit on and only watches the fire, the flames dancing off the copper colored visor and betraying nothing.

“It never gets easier, having to burn bodies. Even before I joined BRIDGEs, it sucked,” Cross finally says, their voice muffled from the mask. Sam awkwardly decides to join Cross on the log, perched on the far side of the log. 

“Freelance doctor I’m guessing?”

“Not… really. It was a little more complicated than that. But I was one of the few people left who had medical training and didn’t hole up in a city. I made some really stupid decisions though. You’d be surprised how hard medicine is to come by out in the wild. Lot of people can’t afford the stuff BRIDGES makes anyway, so they die from preventable illnesses or can’t get the treatment they need. Not everyone has a cushy prepper home.”

They sit like that for a while, watching fire eat away until the air is thick with black smoke while the sound of crackling flame fills the clearing. It’s all Sam can hear, drowning out the sounds of Lou and the soft snap of a twig behind him. His odradek chirps a moment too late, spinning just as the butt of a rifle smashes into the side of his head.

Yelling explodes above him as Sam lands face first in the dirt, his head spinning while black dots dance before his eyes. Cross yells but they’re cut off by another sickening clash of metal and glass. Sam doesn’t get a chance to get his bearings before someone grabs the back of his suit, ungraciously hauling him up and choking him in the process. His arms are yanked tight behind his back, the BRIDGES cuff cutting uncomfortably into his skin as rope winds it way over his wrists. He catches sight of dirtied yellow before he’s pushed to kneel in the dirt, Cross next to him and wheezing hard. Their oxygen mask was cracked, one large piece missing to expose an already red and swollen eye. Someone reaches around to pull at Sam’s own mask, ignoring his attempt to lean away. The air is even more rancid without a filter, making his stomach roll uncomfortably and threaten to flee his stomach. He can practically taste the charcoal on his tongue already.

“You’ve got some balls to show your face around here Cross. And look here, the legendary Porter himself, Sam Bridges. You two are reaaaaal high on the hit list you know?” A voice drawls, accompanied by a pair of boots casually striding up to Sam and Cross. The face is almost indistinguishable behind a tightly wound face cover and yellow hood. All Sam can make out is a pair of angry brown eyes and skin streaked with soot. 

“Caroline. Thought you died already, you hateful witch,” Cross drawls back, only to get a swift boot to their stomach. There’s a crunch and another wheeze from Cross as they double over.

“Still running your mouth as if it won’t get you in trouble. Not even getting cuffed by BRIDGEs has tempered that hot head of yours. Careful, we don’t want this to be any messier than it needs to be. I’m sure your friend would love to see tomorrow.”

The tip of her gun finds it way under Sam’s chin, the metal freezing against his skin. She forces him to look up just slightly, enough that his throat meets open air and he feels the vulnerability of their situation fully. MULEs were rarely competent enough to get the drop on him.

“It’s a shame really, Cross. You were one of the best drug runners I had. You never messed up one delivery- you probably could have been a fine Porter yourself. Well, if you weren’t such a bleeding heart martyr and prideful to boot”

The corners of Caroline’s eyes crinkle as she catches sight of Sam’s confused expression, his eyes darting between her and Cross.

“Oh you didn’t know? Cross here, well they were so desperate to help the ailing people but just couldn’t get the medicine themselves. It’s a rare commodity these days, only produced by one entity: BRIDGES. They don’t exactly sell it to med school dropouts with no medical license so they came to me. I used to work for BRIDGES myself you know. Figured out all their supply routes but I just never had the one thing I needed: an untraceable carrier.”

The tip of her gun leaves Sam’s chin and she moves to Cross, one hand gently prying off the cracked mask. Cross doesn’t meet her leering gaze, only grit their teeth and spit a glob of frothy blood at her feet. 

“Cross used to be freelance and wasn’t monitored. So I let Cross have all the stolen meds they wanted for their patients, so long as they delivered all the… less than legal product for me. It was a perfect partnership, up until they had one bad run-in with BRIDGES. Guess I shouldn’t have expected loyalty from such a cretin,” Caroline sighed, cupping Cross’ chin. 

“You really shouldn’t have stepped foot near my territory sweetie.”

Two MULEs have to hold Sam back as Caroline punches Cross, adding another swift kick to their stomach as they fall over. Cross chokes on air, sputtering and gasping for breath as blood drips from their cracked lips. 

“I should have shot you the moment your scrawny ass came crawling my way. You were a sniveling coward then and you are now. Turning to BRIDGES just because you got caught? You belong in the ground!”

Another boot finds its way into Cross’ stomach, followed by a harsh snap and Cross barely biting back a strangled scream. She grabs at their hair, drawing them back up just for another sucker punch to the jaw. Two teeth fall to the ground, a small pool of blood forming as Cross coughs. She draws them back by the hair again, but pauses to pull down her face cover to expose scarred lips.

“I am going to enjoy watching life leave your eyes. Consider it your last job,” Caroline whispers, her lips brushing gently against the shell of Cross’ ear. Her free hand reaches for her holster to draw a wicked looking dagger, the blade long and thin with serrated edges. 

“No!”

Caroline ignores Sam’s cry to sink the dagger deep into Cross, twisting the handle as they gurgle. She lets go of both Cross and the dagger, watching with glee filled eyes as they flop over and twitch on the ground. Blood wells up and starts to flow around the dagger, painting over dried blood with a fresh layer of vibrant red. 

Then Caroline looks up to the sky and frowns, tugging her face cover back up.

“Hm. I was going to kill you too Sam Porter Bridges… but I think I’ll let the local nuisances do that,” she grumbles, almost disappointed. She gestures to the MULEs and they step away from Sam and CRoss, turning to disappear back into the woods.

“I’ll leave the truck for you, just in case. I’d love to play around some other time. Have fun,” Caroline coos, brushing against Sam’s shoulder as she leaves. He looks up at the sky, squinting against fading sunlight just in time to catch sight of an upside down rainbow, missing one blue stripe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whumping Sam is my favorite, but Cross won't escape my whump bat with ease!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I finished watching JSE's series of DS and just... fuck Amelie. For soooo many reasons. I'm no "Princess Beach" stan (what the fuck was that dialogue? anyone else feel like they were watching crack?).


End file.
